With A Little Help From His Friends
by Frodolives14
Summary: Post-RoTK. After a bout of illness, with Sam gone, Frodo wanders out to contemplate leaving Middle-Earth. Two old friends show up though, and show him how much he has to live for. Physical descriptions of the characters are more movie-based, but the ti


WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM HIS FRIENDS by Frodolives14  
  
Disclaimer: All characters and locations are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien, to whom I offer up my eternal gratitude.  
  
Synopsis: Post-RoTK. After a bout of illness, with Sam gone, Frodo wanders out to contemplate leaving Middle-Earth. Two old friends show up though, and show him how much he has to live for. Physical descriptions of the characters are more movie-based, but the timing is book-based.  
  
Frodo Baggins opened his eyes to discover that it was morning at last. The past few days and the previous night he had been plagued by illness; fever dreams, pain from old wounds and poisons, and memories of the hardship he had suffered on his journey to Mordor. He sighed and sat up slowly. He was relieved to discover that the pain in his shoulder and arm where he had been stabbed by the Morgul-blade was gone, and that his stomach had settled. Fearing to move quickly, he carefully swung himself out of bed and walked to the window. It was a beautiful day in Hobbiton, and all around Bag End and Bagshot Row below, hobbits were out enjoying the fine, crisp October air. There was old Ham Gamgee, also known as the Gaffer, sitting on a bench in his garden smoking a pipe; on another morning, Frodo might have considered going over and sharing a smoke with him before breakfast. But on this morning, a dark cloud was over his heart and mind, and he had no desire for company, except for one, and he was gone.  
Sam. Faithful, dear old Sam Gamgee, Ham's son. Sam had gone away as part of his project to help regrow the trees and plants of the ravaged Shire. His wife, Rosie Cotton, was visiting her own family a few towns away. Frodo was completely alone, and the weight of that realization was crushing. He would not have admitted it to anyone, but Frodo had not been happy for a long time. Since returning from their part in the War of the Ring, he had been beset by a great depression and sadness. He was hurt, wounded, deeply scarred by what he had experienced. He still woke up at night with his breath catching and heart pounding from some nightmare or other, reliving his dark memories. It had been almost a year since their return, and Frodo was beginning to fear he would never recover. Sighing again, he moved away from the window and went down the hall to the kitchen, where he set about preparing a small breakfast for himself. After all, he'd hardly eaten in 3 days. After eating and cleaning up his breakfast, he felt better; his head was clearer and he started to think about what to do next. "Well," he said to himself, "If I'm going to be alone, I'd rather be out of doors on a day like this." He then set about preparing a simple day pack: plenty of food, a water bottle, his journal to write in, and a blanket which he could spread out and lie upon. Thus prepared, he slung the pack over his shoulders, picked up his walking stick, and walked out the front door of Bag End. He was quick to note that the Gaffer was no longer outside, and that nobody else saw him leave his hole. Part of him was glad of it, for he didn't feel much like explaining what he was doing and where he was going at that moment - he wasn't too sure himself. He started off down the southern road, holding to it at the bend at the bottom of The Hill rather than cutting across the fields. It was truly a beautiful day, with a crisp breeze carrying the sweet smell of wood fires from many a hobbit's chimney. His head was continuing to clear, and he suddenly thought of something. If he remembered rightly, not too much further down the road, there was a spot where a small stream cut through a field. There was a log there to sit on, and a large grassy area where one could spread out and lay in the sun. He would make for that spot, and rest there. Decided, he swung off down the road with renewed vigor, quickly leaving Hobbiton, and civilization, behind. He met no one else on his walk, and heard nothing save the wind, and the sound of his own footfalls. When he reached the stream, he sat on the log, laid down his walking stick, and set his pack next to him on the ground. He sat there for some time, dangling his feet in the water, watching the fish swim by and examining his reflection as he stirred up the dirt on the streambed. He brushed his dark brown hair out of his face and looked closer. This last bout of illness had not done him well; his large blue eyes seemed sunken and clouded over hollowed cheekbones. He leaned back, looking up at the sky, which was clear and blue, only broken here and there by thin white whips of cloud. "What are you going to do, Frodo?" He said softly to himself. "You've aged, aged far beyond your years. You've seen and heard and done more than any hobbit should have to. There are wounds that will never heal. There's not much left for you here in the Shire, or in Middle Earth, for that matter. But there is no way to leave. Unless." Suddenly, he heard someone coming down the road from the south. He listened carefully, and soon was able to make out a pair of very familiar voices. "But Merry," said the first voice, high pitched and eager. "I don't understand why you don't just ask her! She's lovely, and she obviously fancies you." "Well, it's not that obvious to me, Pippin," said the second voice, which was slightly lower pitched and sounded slightly annoyed. "She all but runs the other way whenever I try to talk to her!" "But that's what they DO!" The first voice replied, rising in intensity. "Oh, and what makes you such an expert in these matters?" The second voice chuckled. "W.well, uh, I." the first voice stammered as the hobbits they belonged to came around the bend. Pippin Took and Merry Brandybuck were swinging along at a great pace, arguing amongst themselves and paying little attention to their surroundings. Both particularly tall and thin for hobbits, Pippin had permanently unruly dirty blond curls and piercing blue eyes set in a thin, chisled face, while Merry had light brown hair with eyes to match and his face was somewhat rugged and angular. "That's what I thought," Merry was saying to the blushing and spluttering Pippin, playfully mussing his hair. Frodo stood up and started towards them. Pippin was just attempting to get Merry back when he noticed Frodo. "Merry! Look who it is!" "Hello, Frodo!" Merry called, waving. The pair broke into a run and hurried to embrace their friend. "Well, isn't this a surprise! What are you doing here, Frodo?" Pippin asked. "Just.sitting," he said softly in reply; he did not feel like discussing his thoughts just then. "Right, sitting," said Merry, putting his hands on his hips and looking hard at his cousin. "You know you can't keep secrets from us, Frodo, we know you too well." "I.I just haven't been well, you know, and Sam and Rosie have been gone." "Ah. Say no more, dear cousin. We understand, don't we, Pip?" The youngest member of the trio turned to Merry, looking confused. "Understand what?" Merry cuffed him gently on his curly head. "Can't you see?" He whispered to his companion. "He's lonely. He needs company!" He turned to Frodo, arms open, grinning broadly. "We're here for you, Frodo, and we'll stay as long as you need us." "Well," Frodo said, resigned, " I was just about to have some food. Why don't you join me?" At the mention of food, Pippin's eyes grew large and bright and he nodded enthusiastically. At this, Frodo couldn't help but smile, and the three walked down to the stream, where Frodo laid out his blanket, and they all shared the food they had brought (for Merry and Pippin had not come empty-handed). It was a pleasant meal, followed by a lazy smoke of Old Toby, which Frodo found at the bottom of his pack. Pippin kept the others laughing with some recent stories from Tuckborough, including his sister Pervinca's unfortunate run-in with a poison-oak bush while in the forest with her boyfriend ("They chose a bad patch to lie in, that's for sure. She was itching for a week, and he was even worse off!") All in all, it was an enjoyable afternoon, and Frodo began to feel very glad that his cousins had come by. Hobbits' minds are ill-equipped for extended periods of deep thought or introspection, and the joyful banter, good food, and bright sunshine were definitely improving his mood. Maybe he had just been lonely, and depressed from being sick. Merry, however, noticed something different about his Baggins cousin. Not an evil darkness, but a definite shadow had come over Frodo. He and Pippin were younger and more resilient, and had fully recovered from their wounds, though they would never forget their adventures. Sam had begun a new life with a new family, and had been able to leave the past behind him. But Frodo had borne the Ring for a long time, and been touched by its dark magic, along with knife blade and spider's venom. His experiences had left him forever changed. Merry could see that Frodo would never again be the hobbit he had once been, and that there was a part of him that longed for something the Shire couldn't provide. For the moment, though, he was enjoying himself, laughing cheerfully at Pippin's impression of his father, Thain Paladin (whom Merry and Frodo knew very well). I suppose that's the best thing we can do for him, Merry thought to himself, offer him friendship and laughter. They stayed by the stream until the sun was almost touching the tops of the tallest trees. Merry turned to Frodo and said, "I imagine we should be going home, and you too, Frodo." Frodo nodded. "You can just make it back to Buckland before dark." Pippin stood up, looking sad. "I miss you, Frodo. You need to come visit us at Crickhollow sometime." "I shall visit when I can, both of you. And you are both welcome at Bag End anytime you wish." Frodo and Merry stood up and the three embraced. They made quick work of picking up their belongings and folding up Frodo's blanket, and soon they were waving and calling their goodbyes as they went their opposite ways down the road. Frodo started to feel depressed again as he started home. He missed those two very much, and seeing them had brought back more memories that he would rather not have. The thought of going back home to an empty hole was almost more than he could handle. The shadows were lengthening and a rose- colored sunset was filling the sky as he came around the bend at the bottom of the Hill, but Frodo barely noticed. With a heavy sigh, he started up the path toward Bag End.and saw something that made his heart leap for joy. There was a light in the window, and smoke was curling up from the chimney: Sam was home! He all but ran up the path, breathing heavily as he burst through the front door, and smiling widely at what he saw. Fair-haired, gray-eyed, round-faced Sam Gamgee was sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, coaxing a small fire into being. He put down the fire-poker and stood up to rush over to his master. "Mr. Frodo, there you are!" He cried, taking Frodo's hands in his. "I was worried when I came home and you were gone." "Oh, Sam, you're back!" Frodo fiercely embraced the younger hobbit, who returned it with equal strength. "Of course I am! Did you think I would not return?" "I didn't realize you would be back tonight! I expected you to be a few days yet." "Well," Sam said, returning to his former position and picking up the poker, "I did too; but it seems the Shire is in better shape than we thought. Trees and flowers are blooming again, with no need of help from me." He stirred up the fire a bit, and added another log from the small wood-pile. It glowed brightly and caught flame with a loud crackle. Satisfied, Sam put the poker down and turned to Frodo. "Are you hungry, Mr. Frodo? I could fix us a nice mushroom soup for supper." Frodo looked back at his faithful friend and couldn't keep from smiling. " That sounds wonderful, Sam, just wonderful." Later, over steaming bowls of Sam's delicious, creamy mushroom soup and hunks of hearty bread, Sam asked Frodo how he had been. Though reluctant, he admitted so Sam that he had been ill. "It felt like.an echo of the old wound.but I'm better now." Sam looked relieved. "Well, that's good to know! Wonder why it happened, though?" Frodo shrugged and shook his head. "I'm not sure.but it was 2 years ago that I was stabbed, on October 6th." He shuddered. " I saw.the same dreams I saw the first time, only not so clearly. Felt the same pain, only not as strong. Like an echo," he said again, trailing off into silence for a few moments, looking thoughtfully into the dancing flames. Then he smiled and turned to Sam. "But enough of me. Tell me of your journey." Sam obliged, but maintained a wary look as he talked, as if watching Frodo for any other signs of illness. He told of the trees and flowers he had seen and tended to, and of the goings-on of other hobbits in far-off parts of the Shire. "It is good to be home, though, begging your pardon, Mr. Frodo, I do miss Rosie. I should very much like to go to Mr. Cotton's tomorrow and fetch her back, by your leave." "Of course, Sam! I should like to have her safely home as well." Frodo then let out a huge yawn. " I think it's time for you to go to bed, Mr. Frodo," said Sam with a chuckle. "Go on, I'll take care of these." He gestured to the few bowls and plates on the table. "All right. Well.it's good to have you home." "Good to be home, sir," Sam said, smiling. "Good night then," Frodo called over his shoulder as he walked down the hall to his bedroom. He suddenly realized how tired he felt, and how grateful he was for his bed. He was soon asleep, blessed, for the first time in months, with peaceful dreams. 


End file.
